If you’re a part of my life, or a regular reader of the “Right as Rain” column, you may know that I lost my brother Beau back in early October.
I’ve been pretty open and honest about how much I continue to struggle with his loss.
But what many people in my life don’t know—and certainly not if you know me just through my writing—is that I actually have another brother, Shawn.
Shawn is my father’s son from his first marriage and though he is 19 years older than me, he was a big part of my childhood. He had already moved out of the house by the time I was born, so we didn’t live together, but he has been a part of almost every family moment that I remember.
As I grew up and eventually moved out of the house myself, we didn’t spend as much time together. Beau and I lived closer together in Chapel Hill and would usually come home together to visit our parents, but our trips were brief. And all the baseball games and birthday parties that had brought us all together in our adolescence were quickly becoming a part of the past.
When my dad got sick in 2006, things changed.
With Stage-4 lung cancer as well as an abdominal aneurysm threatening his life, I think we all knew we didn’t have much time with him. Between all the scans and doctor appointments, Shawn, Beau, and I came back together to help our father as much as we could. And as a side product, we all had rekindled a bit of that family feeling we had before.
Then, the inevitable happened and the disease got the best of my father. I was tasked with telling my two brothers the bad news.
But in the following weeks, something way less expected happened.
When deciding and discussing how to handle my dad’s estate and belongings, my brother Shawn and I got into an argument that ended up becoming catastrophic. We said things that we both probably now regret (or speaking for myself, I regret) and decided to stop speaking to each other that day. We finalized any dealings with my dad’s house and kept our words to part ways.
For fifteen years.
Time went on. We all continued to build our lives, still living in the same state (minus a few years of me living in New York and traveling for a film), but never speaking to each other.
It became part of our normal lives and whenever I’d meet someone new, including those that would become close friends or girlfriends, I’d always have trouble answering the question of how many siblings I had.
“One brother. Well, two brothers. The other one is a half-brother, so technically one and a half brothers? Anyway, I haven’t seen or spoken to him in years.”
This usually received a puzzling look, but most people (outside of those close friends and girlfriends) didn’t pry.
I remember when I’d hear about people having siblings they hadn’t talked to in years and I always thought it was so weird. I was so close with my brother Beau—and really, my family was so small we all were very close—that I couldn’t imagine that ever being my reality.
Whatever might happen, it surely couldn’t be enough to separate brothers forever, right? Especially when it’s just because of material things and money (it’s always about those things).
But here I was in that exact situation over my father’s estate which was not much more than a single-story ranch house, a boat, a truck and some savings.
As silly as I felt for being one of those people, we all kept our word to not speak.
Beau ended up getting married, building a business, and buying some land in Hillsborough. I traveled the world and came back home, having two children and getting married myself. But my brother Shawn wasn’t a part of any of that.
We’d hear things about his life with his wife, and would tell stories of the past when we’d go home for holidays, but never put any effort into contacting him, nor received any contact.
But after all the years, it all started to feel so silly. My hard feelings towards him softened, especially as I became a father, and I was too weary to continue carrying a grudge. I didn’t have the same anger I once had, and I had changed a lot since being that 24-yr-old kid.
Even then, we never contacted each other.
At the end of this summer, Beau, my mom, and I were all on vacation at Emerald Isle and Shawn’s name came up, as he often did at those family get-togethers. Beau and I talked about how we were pretty much over the conflict and would make amends if the opportunity arose.
Both of us were different people and I think Beau was as weary as I.
But the next week, Beau died. And the chance to make those amends never came for him.
When he was in Duke’s ICU that week, the word had gotten out and a cousin asked if it was okay if she told Shawn. I was so wrapped up into what was happening with Beau, and doing all we could to keep him alive I hadn’t even thought about it, but I told her that was perfectly fine.
I don’t know how Shawn felt or what he was going through, but four days later that same cousin delivered the news to him that Beau was dead.
It took almost a month to plan, but the first of three memorial services took place in late October and Shawn has passed word to us that he planned to be there. My mother nor I knew what to expect. But we both knew we didn’t care enough to stress about that, and that we would all be there to mourn our family member we loved so much. And that whatever issues existed between us all didn’t much matter at that moment.
When I saw him talking to my mom near the entrance of the church, I ran over to him immediately. We wrapped each other up in a tearful hug and once I wiped them away, I brought him over to meet his niece and nephew.
The funeral went as funerals go. It was terrible.
But later that month, I reached out to thank Shawn for coming and let him know I’d be up for getting together when I came home for Christmas. He seemed eager to do the same.
So last week when I went home, we did just that.
He and his wife drove to my mom’s house to visit on the night after Christmas. Seeing each other in October at the funeral was so fast and full of emotion, but this would be an actual visit. For the first time in almost fifteen years.
I was a little bit nervous and didn’t know what to expect and I’m sure he was, too.
But it was great. We laughed and watched the kids play with their toys and caught up on what each other had been doing (or at least the “Cliff’s notes” version). Fifteen years is a lot of catching up to do.
We ended the night with hugs and tears and a sense of forgiveness.
We are both clearly hurting and have much healing to do—from decades ago growing up with an abusive alcoholic father, from the past fifteen years of not being a part of each other’s lives, and from the past couple of months after losing our dear, beautiful brother.
It won’t happen overnight.
But I know now more than ever we both need to feel a family connection, as it is all seeming to slip away as the years go on. I just feel that my kids need to know their uncle and I certainly don’t want to keep them from him.
Who knows what the future holds for us or how we will continue to navigate repairing our relationship and healing from the past. All I know is that we have tentative plans to shoot shotguns at some sporting clays and begin to get to know each other again.
Life takes us down many roads we aren’t expecting and even some we never wanted to go down. But as we head into 2022, let’s all remember that it’s never too late to turn it around.
Rain Bennett is a two-time Emmy-nominated filmmaker, writer, and competitive storyteller with over a decade of experience producing documentary films that focus on health and wellness. His mission is simple: to make the world happier and healthier by sharing stories of change.
You can read the rest of “Right as Rain” here, and check back every Wednesday on Chapelboro for a new column!
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